


On the Repair of Collateral Damage

by Lestradesexwife



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Jaeger Pilots, M/M, Oral Sex, Robots, post drift sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the purposes of this fic; John was invalided home from Afghanistan and recovered almost completely before the first of the kaiju attacks. Bond was shot off the bridge and was recovering somewhere in the Pacific... BECAUSE I SAID SO and hence witnesses one of the first kaiju incursions. He did not return to MI6, but instead signs up for Jaeger training. James and John met in ‘basic’ Jaeger training and were paired off almost immediately. Sherlock and Q met at university and have been together ever since, Q only goes by Q and there are no other records of him, so no one questioned when they signed up that they were brothers. By the time it became obvious they aren’t brothers they had already been assigned a Jaeger and killed their first kaiju.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakfast of Champions

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Roane, Otter and Monster for the cheerleading and generally making me feel loved. 
> 
> Provocatrixxx for the amazing beta'ing... and still putting up with my constant tense shifts and general silliness... Any mistakes are my own and you should direct all problems to me :D

John balances the tray carefully as he walks across the mess hall, heavy boots making a counterpoint against the tapping of his cane. It is bloody inconvenient, but he is not under any circumstances going to ask James to carry it for him. He’d had enough trouble with shrinks and the psych tests just getting into the Jaeger program. Yes, his limp was psychosomatic, no it did not affect the portion of his brain responsible for dealing with the destruction of kaiju. He’d explained it calmly, with the tip of his cane resting against the suprasternal notch of the bureaucrat/shrink. James had laughed when he’d seen it in their first drift, shown him all the times he’d done similar things to med techs who seemed bent on experimenting on him. They’d fallen onto their bunk afterwards, hands and mouths exploring a nearly matched set of old wounds.

John smiles at the memory, and the more recent memory from this morning. Slow and careful without a hint of delicateness they had taken each other apart. John is calculating the chances of having time after breakfast for another session when a familiar accent stops him in his tracks. Bond turns back, attention drawn as John leans on his cane instead of moving forward.

“I didn’t know there were other British Jaeger pilots.” John takes in the matched set at the small table, probably brothers judging by the near identical mops of dark hair and pale skin. James comes to stand at his side, resting easy with the tray in both hands. John can see the threat assessment behind his eyes, and the beginnings of a smile that he knows is mirrored on his own face.

“We signed up in _Canada_. Technically we aren’t British anymore.” The acidic sarcasm dripping off the posh London accent could have eaten through the floor plating.

“Sherlock, don’t antagonize the angry little soldier man.” John smiles at the fondness in the, possibly younger, brother’s tone, deciding that he won’t even bother to take offense at the ‘little’ crack.

“Q. They are all angry soldier men. They are practically designed to be antagonized.”

The younger one, Q, turns to John; hesitating when he discovers both of John’s hands occupied before deciding against extending his hand in greeting. “Don’t mind him, he doesn’t play well with others. I’m Q. He’s Sherlock.” He tilts his head at the two empty seats at the table. “He’s driven everyone else off, but you are welcome to join us.”

“Yeah alright. John Watson, and this is James Bond.” John settles his tray on the nearer side of the table. James tilts his head in greeting and swings around to the far side of the table to sit next to Sherlock.

“You're not brothers?” Q asks it low and polite. Directed more towards John, but it is James who answers for them, picking up the thread of conversation with the deep familiarity that comes with drifting. “No, I’m an orphan, and John’s sister couldn’t drift if she was on a raft in the Atlantic. We shouldn’t be here, but we have... valuable skill sets.”

Q smiles, “We had to elope to Canada. That one’s brother doesn’t approve of placing oneself in danger. Well, he approves of other people putting themselves in harm’s way. Just doesn’t see that it should be Sherlock.”

John nearly chokes on what passes for tea in the Shatterdome. “You aren’t brothers either?”

“You weren’t lovers until after you drifted.” Q flinches as the words fall, seemingly involuntarily, from Sherlock’s lips.

Bond pauses with his fork partway to his mouth and John turns cold blue eyes on Sherlock. “Problem?”

“How did you know the drift would take? You aren’t brothers, you weren’t lovers. It could have killed you.” Sherlock leans forward, unafraid and obviously unbothered by the threat of James’ fork on a line with his jugular, simple curiosity overwhelming whatever senses of self preservation the man might possess. Bond relaxes and chews his food, dangerous sparks behind his eyes as he regards John.

“We have a vast body of shared experiences, even though we never met before drift training. We are a matched set.” A broken, and possibly missing a couple key pieces, but a set nevertheless.

“ _Sherlock_. I’m sorry, he doesn’t get out much.” Q’s cheeks are tinged red and he is leaning towards John, trying to soothe any frayed nerves. John begins to suspect that Sherlock has outsourced his self-preservation duties to Q.

“He’s a Jaeger pilot with a psychosomatic limp, he has thicker skin than that Q.”

John smiles, tight and controlled, warming to these two men despite himself, and the spark in James’ eye turns playful. “That’s true. I do have thick skin..” There is value in the kind of ferocity that most Jaeger pilots possess. But the fight that breaks out at the far end of the mess proves Q’s point. Most pilots are hot-headed, ready to tip over into violence at a moment’s notice, making base discipline a nightmare. John’s smile widens, grateful again to have been paired with James - they both enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of the kill; the rush they get from the successful elimination of a threat is sufficient reward. They don’t need to seek out status, especially in the closed society of Jaeger pilots with its disproportionate weighting towards alpha males.

“Attention please, Class II kaiju detected. Support and control teams, Red Queen and Wrath please report to the Shatterdome for immediate drop.” The message repeats in the main languages of the Pacific Rim, different voices sounding the same call. John shovels several quick bites into his mouth and slides back, suppressing his surprise when Q mirrors him. “Red Queen?” John abandons his tray and holds out his hand to Q. He isn’t surprised by the strength in Q’s grip.

“Wrath?”

“St. George’s Wrath. James is Navy, I’m Army. It suits us. He wanted to name her after a _boat_.”

“Ship. John. Ship.”

John winks at Q behind James’ back and they move off together towards the Shatterdome; four sets of boots and the occasional tic of John’s cane.

***

Red Queen is beautiful, deep scarlet with a perfect rendition of a human heart painted on her chest plate. Next to her Wrath looks ancient and weathered, the markings of kaiju victories nearly obscured by the dents and scratches. The only part James insists on having painted over after every battle is the depiction of St. George slaying the dragon.

Sherlock makes an appreciative noise. The first positive sound to have come from him all morning. “Wrath is nuclear?”

“One of the first mark twos, properly shielded thank you.”

“You’ve taken good care of her. We might be able to work with you.” He smirks and flips a lazy salute as he spins away towards his prep team. Q offers an apologetic smile as he turns to follow Sherlock.

James smirks at the pair of them. “Kids these days.”

“C’mon old man, time to earn our keep.” John leads the way into the screened off area that passes for a locker room.


	2. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

“Pre-drop checks are complete sir.”

 

James grunts in response and begins his own flight check. John smiles at the green tech and settles himself into his cradle, begins checking off his own hemisphere. “Very good, thank you Hooper.”

 

The tech clutches her datapad and scurries out.

“You could be nicer to them. They only mean well.” John knows that it is a lost cause, but it doesn’t hurt to try to remind James to be civil to the drop team. They are the ones who maintain Wrath after all.

 

“You are nice enough to them. How do you ever remember all their names?” James doesn’t take his eyes off the controls and readouts in front of him.

 

“They have them conveniently printed on their pockets James, it isn’t that hard.” That gains him a smirk from James and a grunted acknowledgment that his hemisphere is ready for drift. “Tower, this is Wrath, we are clear for neural handshake.”

 

John groans as they slip into the neural handshake, folding themselves into one creature of metal and flesh. The warm memory of James buried deep in him this morning, overlapped with John’s memories, steals John’s breath, his cock twitching painfully against the constriction of the drive suit. 

 

Protocol dictated verbal communication during drift, for the record and out of a sense of politeness to the drop crews. It is completely unnecessary between the pilots, and John speaks in the drift to James. _:alright let’s go kill a monster. and when we get back:_ John lets one of his favourite positions play across the drift, his eyes open and watching James’ reaction to the mental stimulation. On the outside James appears unaffected, but the drift echoed with his moans. _:Jesus John.:_

 

“Use your words please gentlemen. I need you chasing kaiju not rabbits.”

 

“Yes Sir.” James replies, thankful that they were monitoring brain activity but unable still to read the contents of the thoughts. “Handshake is good. Wrath is ready for transport.”

 

The bizarre sensation of their larger body going weightless as the choppers lifted them hasn’t become routine despite the number of drops they’ve had, and they concentrate on not moving around. Panama had lost two chopper crews when a rookie Jaeger team had flinched before the cables were released. 

 

“Red Queen will hold the Golden Mile. Wrath can have first crack at the kaiju, it’s bigger than the last one, but that is nothing new.” Kaiju had started off big and just kept getting bigger every time there was an incursion. 

 

“Roger that Tower, Wrath has point. We like the big ones Sir... the harder they fall.” James is solid on the comms, but John can see his fear... thousands of man-sized kaiju crawling out of the waves and devouring everything in their path.

 

“Prepare for drop. 3...2...1...Drop.”

 

“All choppers reporting clear. Radar reports kaiju closing fast on your nine o’clock. Mind the shelf half a click to your starboard. It gets a bit deep there.” 

 

“Noted Tower, thanks.” John checks their on board radar, and sonar. “Why is it always fucking raining when they do this? Visibility is shite, as per. Fuckers coming up on the left side, right side is the deep fucking ocean... Sounds about right.”

 

“Red Queen has the Golden Mile.” The voice over the comms is bored, nearly comatose.

 

“I could just let it swim past if you like Red Queen? Give you something to do.” John flips the switches that power up the plasma cannon, watching the electric green blob of the kaiju swim ever closer. _:one in the general direction to get it’s attention?:_

 

James raises his arm and sends a plasma blast into the centre of the glowing patch of water that marks the approaching kaiju. “Too much to hope that I hit it in the brain and kill it on the first shot.” The water rolls and a massive dorsal breaches the surface. James hits it again with the cannon and it swerves and heads towards them, leaking blue slime. They brace as the beast launches itself out of the water at them. 

 

“Oh good, this one has massive fucking teeth.” John swings his arm around, catching the monster in the side. Wrath’s fingers are articulated, capable of grabbing onto bits of kaiju and ripping, but also hardened steel plates, sharpened into a point. John feels the blade scrape over the beasts ribs, not penetrating deep enough to cause any real damage. John curses and twists, shoving the beast back into the water. “Kindly shoot the bastard for me James.”

 

James tracks the roiling water, powering up the cannon and waiting for the kaiju to break the surface.

 

“It’s bluffing! Watch the tail!” Sherlock’s voice is anything but bored now, and John has a second to process the warning before the spiked tail rises from the water and swipes towards their knees. Wrath’s fingers close around the narrow part of the tail and John plants his feet and **_lifts_**. The kaiju’s back legs rise from the water, and it’s head twists suddenly, the scream of overtaxed metal competing with enraged beast to deafen even through their helmets. The kaiju opens its mouth to bite at John’s arm, but James raises his hand and sends three quick plasma bursts down it’s throat. The back of the kaiju’s head sprays out into the ocean, glowing blue from the plasma and hissing where it contacts the water, sending up small shots of steam.

 

John wrinkles his brow. “Well that was easy. Thank you Red Queen. Tower, can I get a clean up team?”

 

“Stand-by Wrath. Crew is on their way to you now.”

 

John locks Wrath’s fingers around the kaiju’s tail and settles in to wait - holding onto the biggest bit of the kaiju would make the clean up easier. The crew would be out for hours trying to fish the smaller pieces out, but there was nothing John could do about that.

 

He smiles as James sends tendrils of emotion over the drift. At least they can keep each other occupied while they waited.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there... All the love to Provocatrixxx for her awesome beta.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I add in the tags about the sexy fun times.
> 
> chapter contains men going at it... you have been warned.

 

The Shatterdome floor is never quiet, especially with two crews incoming and the kaiju carcass to deal with. The organized chaos swirls around John and Bond as they make their way back to the living quarters of base.

 

“Oi! Red Queen.” James shouts over the din on the floor, stopping Sherlock and Q in their tracks, helmets under arms, still bolted into their drive suits. They wait until both James and John have drawn along side them before continuing towards quarters. “How did you know about the tail?”

 

Q sighs as Sherlock draws breath to reply, cutting the other man off. “When he tells it, the story is very long and insulting. We are glad that we were able to warn you, but it is best if we leave it at that.”

 

James narrows his eyes and flicks a glance between the two men. Sherlock’s jaw is set, but he seems to be following Q’s lead this time. “I want to hear this story.” He flicks his eyes over John. “Tomorrow, oh nine hundred, our quarters are B block, room 221.” He tilts his head at John and they proceed off towards their quarters, stopping along the way to have the techs extract them from their suits.

 

**

 

In their room John allows himself to be backed against the door, snakes his arms around Bond’s waist and pulls the taller man close, letting himself be pressed back and caged in James’ arms. He tilts his head back and catches Bond’s lips with his own, nipping hard to draw his mouth open. They are both still damp from the decontamination shower, army green scrubs clinging to them and hiding nothing from the imagination. John reaches down and grabs hold of Bond’s arse, closing the last bit of distance between them hard enough that James groans into John’s mouth. 

 

“Fuck.”

“ _Yeah_.”

 

This soon after a drift they finish each other’s sentences, not really sure which one of them is speaking at any given moment. 

 

John slots himself into the downward curve of James’ body, rucking Bond’s shirt up and over his head, running fingers along the exposed curve of his spine. This close to drift, the memories of touch and taste blur with reality, letting John feel his fingers running over Bond’s skin from both angles, until there is no more self, only the give and take of pleasure, and then only pleasure.

 

John shifts, following the flow of desire until he is on his knees, tugging Bond’s trousers open. Bond rolls his hips, sliding into John’s open mouth. Tongue and teeth and suction, and this would be enough, for both of them. John floats.

 

Time and memory are different in the drift, nothing is immediate, and everything is happening at once. James tightens his fingers against the back of John’s skull and John growls. They move together, three steps across the room and John is already naked when they reach the bed. They keep the lube under the pillows and James finds it without having to search, slicking himself as John straddles him. They move together slowly, just long enough to open John up, then long hard thrusts. Bond’s slick hand curls over John’s cock, their other hands entwined, giving John leverage to move his hips. John’s cock becomes an extension of James. 

 

“Oh god yes.” They are quiet like this. They can howl and moan and curse with the best, but now the only sounds are the hard slap of flesh and laboured breathing. 

 

John throws his head back, arching his back and grinding down onto James. “I am. going to. _fuck_ you so hard.” He lifts himself up and crashes back into James, cresting like a wave over him. 

 

They are still nearly one person, and shifting around each other is as natural as moving inside their own skins. Before, when they were separate this would have been awkward, would have required negotiation; now it simply is. James plants his hands on the wall beside the bunk, spreads his knees and sighs as John sinks into him, pulls him back until James is sitting in his lap. “God, I could stay like this for days. You feel so good in me.”

 

John pushes him forward again and snaps his hips hard and deep. He’s losing the drift, but with the last little bit of connection he feels himself slide deep into James. “Fuck, do you remember what my cock looks like sliding into you, how it feels to watch you take me in?” John curls his fingers in the hair at the base of Bond’s neck and pulls, forcing James to bend and take him deeper. Bond pushes back, bracing himself against the wall. John’s other hand wraps around his cock and strokes, rough and quick. “We are going to come like this, I’m going to feel you come all over my hand and you are going to feel me inside you.” He snaps his hips, hard quick thrusts that drag broken groans from James. Bond rocks into John’s hand, held bow tight between John’s cock and the hand on his nape. John fixes the memory of the dimples in James’ ass as he flexes around John’s cock in his mind. “Look at you, fuck, you are perfect. C’mon then, we’re close, make us come James.”

 

James groans, pushing back against John’s hand on his neck, forcing himself into a curve that sends sparks through both of them. John’s thrusts are quicker, deeper but rapidly lose coherence and become erratic. James’ hand joins John’s on his cock and they slide together. When they come it is white noise, fire along every nerve and choirs of fucking angels. John’s fingers press deep marks into the back of Bond’s neck, riding out the last of their orgasm in slick slow thrusts. They collapse sideways, John still buried deep in him. John’s hand reaches, finds the discarded shirt he was wearing earlier and cleans them up. Sighing as he loses the skin against skin connection. 

 

They sleep under a light sheet, John curled around James. Even in the depths of the Shatterdome the night is warm. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trixxx is the best, if you don't agree.... well you probably don't know her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning sex, some words on the general improvement of robots... a Kaiju... and some dead brain cells.

The alarm goes off at 0700, but they are already awake. James reaches out and slaps the clock with a growl, sliding deep and slow into John, rolling his hips. John wraps his arms around Bond’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. The change in angle drags Bond’s stomach over John’s cock, and John presses up into the contact. Their moans are trapped inside their mouths, echoed back to each other until they break apart. John arches up off the bed and Bond holding his hips tight and twitching deep quick thrusts into John. 

 

John comes first, his cock untouched between them, the pulses and desperate twitching of his hips bring James over the edge, a growling wordless wave of pleasure flowing between them. James rolls his hips, pushing final waves of sensation into John. Twisting so that he is propped on his elbow, mostly covering John without crushing him. “Good morning.”

 

John smirks and turns towards him, catching a kiss. “Good morning to you too, corny wanker.” John disentangles himself from Bond, searching first for something dirty enough to clean himself up, then for something clean enough to walk down the corridor to the showers.

 

Bond catches at his hip. “Where are you going?”

 

“Shower, then the mess for some toast. You were the one with the bright idea to invite Red Queen over at bloody 0900.”

 

“That’s hours still. Come back to bed.”

 

“I’m not complaining, but did you ask them for a briefing or a fuck? Because if they knock on the door and find this.“ he gestures between them “They are either going to run screaming or ask to join in. Or possibly Sherlock will run screaming and Q will ask to join in. I think he likes you.”

 

James bites at John’s hip. “For what it is worth, I did ask them for a briefing. I want to know how he knew about the tail. And I think you have it backwards. Q would run, Sherlock likes you.”

 

“So briefing first. Seduction can wait until after lunch.” The look in John’s eye is hungry, and is matched in his mate’s.

 

James flops back down on the bed, a noise of agreement on his lips. John laughs and tosses a mostly clean pair of track pants at him. “Shower - James.”

 

**

The knock on the door comes at precisely 0900, and John smiles as he opens it. He offers Red Queen tea, which is accepted gratefully on Q’s part and as his due on Sherlock’s. Q complements them on the tea, even though it is only Tipps. John neglects to mention that he and James are sharing a bag, while Sherlock and Q are each have a fresh one of their own, trying to stretch the tiny package that Harry had sent for John’s birthday.

 

Q has data pads stuffed with charts and video of past kaiju encounters, and James and John sit on the bunk, now neatly made, and follow along with Q’s briefing, only now and again stealing glances at Sherlock.

 

“You are still listening. Why are you still listening?” Sherlock sounds genuinely perplexed.

 

“Q is telling us that kaiju are smart, that they have strategy and purpose. And how to use that against them. Why wouldn’t we listen?” John keeps his eyes fixed on the datapad in his hands, but James fixes Sherlock in his cold grey gaze.

 

Q clears his throat. “No one else has. We’ve been over this with base command a dozen times, they don’t want to hear it.”

 

James swings his gaze to Q. “The Commander isn’t standing knee deep in the ocean while the stuff of nightmares tries to eat him.” John smirks, the disconnect between command and field operations should be horrifying, but instead it was a fact of life. From Afghanistan to the edge of the ocean, nothing ever changes. “I’ll take whatever intel you have and put it to use killing kaiju”

 

Q looks at him for a long moment, and then resumes his briefing, referring them back to the datapads with technical specs for improvements to their Jaegers.

 

By lunch James has _nearly_ forgotten about seducing the Red Queen pilots. He’s standing on the Shatterdome deck, his repair and control teams scrambling to implement the changes Q had suggested. Satisfied, he turns to John and they head for the drift simulation room. 

 

There is no way to practice fighting kaiju, but you can simulate combat inside the drift, drawing from memories of past encounters, rewinding them and imagining new starting conditions. They run through the starting conditions laid out in Q’s briefing, and it could just be hindsight, but they manage to take the kaiju down in less time and with less damage to their Jaeger. 

 

****

 

Wrath’s next drop is against the first of the class three kaiju, but Red Queen doesn’t drop with them. The choppers drop them on an underwater outcropping, and Wrath tilts drunkenly to the side, trying to correct for the uneven terrain. “Jesus, I thought they were supposed to have dredged this section.” James curses over the comms. John’s mouth is tight, a hard line of phantom pain from the robot and his ridiculous leg merges as he fights to stabilize the robot. 

 

“It’s alright, old man, we’ve got this.” The accent is thick, John doesn’t even know where they are from, but their English is quite good. Insulting... but good.

 

“Negative Super Dankaiter Z,” and John fights to keep the sound of his eyes rolling in his head off the comms. “You have the mile, Wrath is stable now.” John digs Wrath’s left foot into the sea floor, cringing at the destruction of coral beneath his metal foot. So many of the Jaeger pilots think that holding the Mile is a punishment, John knows different. The number of times they have been assigned point is a punishment, only a matter of time before the kaiju that takes them down finally crosses the rift.  

 

The sound of the kaiju breaching and hitting against Dankaiter side over the comm is painful for only an instant before the filters kick in and deaden the sound. 

 

: _Shit:_ They are too far away, Dankaiter had swung around too far to the starboard. They pull Wrath into motion, swinging in an arch that will bring them up behind Dankiater and the kaiju. The feed of Dankaiter’s damage reports sends pulses of fear up John’s spine. “Disengage and regroup, you are too close to the kaiju. He’s going to swamp your engines.”

 

“So you can swoop in and steal our kill... I don’t think so Wrath. Go home and put your leg up, gramps. We can handle this.”

 

“Kid if he swamps your engine we’ll get the kill anyway, only the clean up team will be hauling Dankiater in for scrap.” _:If you are lucky, and there are big enough pieces left:_

There is no answer from Dankaiter, and Wrath is forced to stand watch on the mile until the kaiju crawls past the sinking metal hulk. The plasma cannon has always felt cool to John, so hot that it can no longer be felt as heat through the connection with James’ arm. Now it burns through their connection, anger and sadness merging until only Wrath is left.

 

Afterwards, when the salvage crews bring in the hunks of kaiju meat and the twisted chunks of metal that remain of Dankaiter, they refuse the tally-mark when the maintenance team drags out the stencil to put it on Wrath’s hull. 

 

James requests that they be permanently teamed with Red Queen. The base commander is surprised - everyone else has been requesting transfers off the Queen’s shift. He grants the request immediately, and has Q and Sherlock assigned quarters in B block, across the corridor from 221.

 

James opens the loosely named liqueur cabinet as soon as the hatch slams behind them, pours them out two measures of something that claims on the bottle to be whiskey. Their glasses clink and they murmur “Dankaiter.” together. Fallen comrades being fallen comrades even if they were bloody idiots. 

 

The first knock on the door is tentative, and John mistakes it for the general background noise of the Shatterdome. The second is harsh and demanding, cannot be mistaken for anything but a demand for entry. James rolls his eyes and shouts “We aren’t here, go away.”

 

There is no answer, but also no clang of boots leaving their threshold. John sighs and puts on his best command face, ready to dismiss whatever idiot is on the other side of their door.

 

Q looks sheepish, and Sherlock is standing at a sort of sloppy attention, defiance in his eyes. “Q tells me that I should thank you for requesting that we be paired together. He seems to think we were about to be ejected from the program.” Q’s foot comes down hard on Sherlock’s toes. “And I am to express my condolences on the loss of  Super Dankaiter Z” Sherlock doesn’t manage to contain either his eye roll or his dripping sarcasm. 

 

“I’m sorry John. I shouldn’t have brought him along. We are grateful... and there was nothing you could have done about Dankiater.”

 

The sense of relief John feels hearing that from Q is disproportionate to the words, from anyone else they would be the cookie cutter apologetics offered to instil confidence. From Q they have a certainty, he’s reviewed the footage and found the weakness in Dankaiter that caused their fall. There is nothing Wrath could have done to change the outcome. John stands aside and holds the door for Red Queen. “We were just about to kill off some brain cells with what we are assured is whiskey. Join us?”

 

Q’s sheepish smile returns and he holds out a bottle from behind his back. “They tell me this is vodka. I’m fairly certain it isn’t rubbing alcohol.”

 

“Probably not... rubbing alcohol is too expensive.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end... and really it is a beginning... veering sharply to the left of canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Provocatrixxx is a perfect beta, she made this much better than it was before, just by poking me in the brain a bit.

They eat together, spar together and fight kaiju together. John is glad they didn’t put money on whether or not Sherlock _likes_ him, although he was right about James and Q. It becomes a point of pride for them that Red Queen hasn’t had to raise a finger to defeat a kaiju since they paired up. Under Red Queen’s guidance Wrath picks up fewer and fewer battle scars, and they take the time to smooth over the old damage, restoring Wrath to her full glory. Subtle improvements suggested by Q and Sherlock make Wrath the second highest ranked Jaeger in the western hemisphere.

 

They are only two weeks, and one kaiju, from breaking the record for continuous defense in their sector when they receive their decommissioning orders. The defense wall is almost complete, and their service is no longer required. Q and Sherlock find John on Wrath’s control deck, sitting propped against the wall staring at the cradles and nursing a bottle of the moonshine the maintenance department makes.

 

“He doesn’t need me, outside this. He can go and run around saving the world from bad guys. No one needs a limping ex-soldier, ex- doctor, ex-Jaeger pilot.” John doesn’t meet their gaze.

 

Q winces, sympathetic, but doesn’t try to make John feel better with useless platitudes. “His brother is almost entirely the British Government. We talked to him. The Canadians want to take another run at closing the rift.” 

 

“Won’t work, it has been attempted.” John waves the bottle dismissively, feigning a deeper drunk than he feels in the hopes that Red Queen will leave him alone so he can get properly wasted. His entire life has just collapsed after all. A man is entitled to some privacy.

 

“Of course it won’t work. But there are still gaps in the Canadian portion of the wall. They hardly ever get kaiju, not enough population. They want to actually _defend_ the wall. And they’ve recalled us.” Q is speaking slowly, and Sherlock is regarding him impatiently.

 

“Well congratulations then.” John raises the bottle, tipping it towards them in salute. “Have fun guarding the polar bears.”

 

“Don’t be thick. You are coming with us. Wrath was due for scrap, the Canadians picked her up cheap, Panama even threw in the pilots... no extra charge.” Sherlock is biting as usual, but it feels tempered with the barest hint of fondness to John.

 

It takes John a horrifyingly long time to sort out the implications of Sherlock’s statement. “We are going to Canada.”

 

“Yes, we are going to Canada.  Make sure you bring warm socks, apparently it isn’t _quite_ as cold as the Ice box, but it will be a change from here.”

 

“Alright. When do we leave?” John lets himself smile a tight smile, a tiny curl of hope in his chest.

****

They don’t drift again until they are installed in the new base. Nearly a month of transport time, followed by a week of dry runs and systems checks. A month of John coming to grips with the potential of James’ abandonment. Nearly a month for him to rationalize the reasons, to grieve silently and let James go. 

 

John isn’t prepared for the anger when they finally slide together again in the drift. It is impossible to hide anything of this magnitude inside his head. He lets it float on the surface; the knowledge that, if this doesn’t kill them, James will eventually leave; the acknowledgement that it is inevitable; the assurance that John understands, that he will be fine on his own. 

 

James’ fury is blinding, white hot, burning out into deep sadness. If not for the drift harness, John would have collapsed under the weight of it. Regret, deep and bitter washes over him. A month spent mourning a loss that will never come. A month spent clinging to moments he thought would be his last. 

 

Aloud synched, and over the drift the component parts of words, the things that we mean but can’t actually be sure we are saying out loud, “I’m sorry.” The anger and fear melt away, replaced with James’ sheepish revelation of a memory, a plan to go rogue. Steal Wrath and enough supplies to last them the journey to a deserted island. Calling in favours and battling kaiju in the infested ocean.

 

The drift is filled with warmth, fondness and a deeper desire. John wants to leave the Jaeger, curl around James and sleep for a week, exhausted from the repression of his emotions and the relief of finding James beside him again. He tucks a merging of fantasy and memory, curling warm in their bunk, in the top right hand corner of their shared space in just the way he would tuck a favourite photo under the corner of a mirror. James turns it, shows John the way his arms feel, the way their fingers entwine when John is asleep and James wakes first. 

 

John can hear the drift tech shouting at them. The klaxons that sound when they have gone too far down the rabbit hole. He brushes a sleepy kiss against James’ ear in the memory. “Later?” James sighs and turns in his arms, “Yes. After work... we’ll tell them to bugger off unless there is a kaiju knocking down the wall.”

 

They rise, they have drills. The tech stops shouting, calms when James tells him to stop being a prude. The Canadian setup isn’t finished, the radar installation was delayed, doesn’t yet cover the whole section of the wall. Wrath is to be sent out on patrols. The base staff is a hodge-podge, like every other Shatterdome on the Pacific. New enough to be still finding their way around each other. The tech is Russian, and for all that they only met for five minutes, John likes him. He’s strong willed and doesn’t panic in a crisis. He gives them enough free rein in the field to get the job done and Wrath home in one piece. John smiles, “Home is where you dock your Jaeger.”

****

Sherlock had given John a new cane, gifted it to him while telling him he didn’t need it. Carved from a kaiju ‘finger’ bone, it makes a sharp clicking sound on the concrete as they head for the shower. John’s head turns to catch James nodding at a flustered tech. Snatching something from her and casting a guilty glance in John’s direction. 

 

John stops, turns and plants his feet, leaning just a bit on the cane. Sherlock is right, John hasn’t really needed it lately, but he’s damned if he is going to tell Sherlock that. “What’s all that then?”

It is obvious there is nothing to be jealous of, but whenever James gets that look on his face John likes to make sure they have bail money set aside.

 

James stops just outside the range of John’s cane, scuffing his boots on the concrete. And now they have attracted a tiny audience. Techs and mechanics slowing down on their way past to peer at the pilot team. Pair arguments are rare, but living inside someone else’s head can lead to spectacular arguments. James looks down at his hands, and John feels a spark of fear shoot down the back of his neck and into his belly. 

 

“I swear I was going to do this before...” He waves his hand and John nods, knowing he means before they drifted. James looks away, glaring at the techs that are now staring openly and tittering behind their data pads. “We should get married.”

 

John rocks back, glad he was balanced on the cane for once. “I’m sorry, we should what?”

 

James turns back to him, taking one step closer. “It’s a formality really, paperwork... in case. But we are in Canada now... so... it will be easier. If you wanted to...” He waves his hand and snags his gaze on the fist he has made around whatever the tech gave him. “if you wanted to have a _wedding.”_

 

John snorts, keeps from laughing only because James is obviously distressed, worried John will say no. “What part... of all the things you know about me... would lead you to believe I’d want a wedding?”

 

James opens his fingers, revealing two rings. Rough and pitted, the worst of the scratches smoothed out to reveal the fresh metal. 

 

“Did you replace them?” John teases. Obviously bolts taken from Wrath, resized and polished up a bit. Wouldn’t do to have one of the plates fall off in mid-battle under the strain.

 

“They’re from that bit that came off three kaiju ago... the one Q designed the replacement for.”

 

“Alright then.” John holds out his hand and James looks up at him, slides the ring on John’s finger with a grin.

 

The wolf-whistles and cheering don’t start until John pulls James close and kisses him hard.

 


End file.
